


Wait for it

by SansThePacifist



Series: Hamilton Stories [3]
Category: Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander could probably tie with Angelica when roasting lmao, Alexander speaks spanish/french/english, Alternate Universe - Highschool, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bad Spanish, Bullying, Canon Death, Canon Era, Character Death, Charles Lee & George King are jerks btw, Cheating, Comments & kudos appreciated, Detailed descriptions of being shot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Foster Care, Foster Parents, Foster System, George & Martha are Alex's Foster Parents, Highschool AU, Hurt, I used google translate, Illnesses, Implied (Past) Lams, Implied Rape/Non-con, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Modern Era, Move to california hun- we dont have any of that rain, Moving, Multi, Other, Poor bab, Principal George Washington, Reincarnation, Reincarnation AU, Slight Abuse?, Soulmate AU, Soulmate tatoos, Soulmates, Tatooed Writing (born with), Trilingual, dont expect it to be good though, fight me, he's gonna be supper scared of storms btw, hope you like the story lmao, im not gonna get into details with it, im not sure???, implied alcohol abuse, implied whoring, its gonna get better later trust me, like panic attack at thunder scared, mentions of a hurricane, should i up this to Mature???, too much tags?, wow this seems a lot darker than it is lmao, yo its all implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansThePacifist/pseuds/SansThePacifist
Summary: He half expected Burr to back out of the duel, but something had told him Burr was more than done with everything the man had done in his life.When time runs out and his life was drained, he woke up again, was there really never not enough time? To him, it seemed like he almost had all he could get, an endless cycle. He could only remember his first lifetime though.





	1. The World was wide enough

_At first, time slowed down. His mind went blank as he tried to figure out what he was doing across the river from society. Why he standing there with his arm pointed to the sky, why Burr was pointing at him. Then it all clicked, the gun in his hand, the shaking, the way memories flashed to mind. He was in a duel, a duel against Aaron Burr nevertheless. Then the bullet hit him between the ribs. His mind, once again went blank, and if he hadn't felt the numb pressure of it, he wouldn't have known the bullet hit. He stumbled backwards from the force of it, his grip on the gun loosened and it fell the the floor as he went to clutch where he was shot, almost as if trying to confirm that it had. As soon as it was touched, however, the pain hit like a freight train, making his grip tighten as he gasped for air._

_Funnily enough, he couldn't think of any words as he looked up and fell to his knees. He could see his mother, his son. He could see Washington, Laurens. He whispered something about taking his time, pain continuing to blossom and sending shivers down his spine. Crimson liquid was already staining his green coat and his skin, he let out a laugh, but it ended up being more of a cough as blood bubbled out from between his lips. Oh, it truly was funny. How far Burr had fallen, a man who had always waited for something, yet as soon as he tried to reach for something and Alexander wouldn't let it happen, he snapped and challenged him._

_Time sped up once again as Burr tried to walk towards him, a look of complete mortification and sadness showing. Alexander couldn't hold it against the man, however. He was a hard one to lose. His vision flickered and the doctor on sight attempted to tend to him immediately, trying to wipe the dirt from the wound. A friend, his enemy. Which one was Burr? He couldn't tell. Every touch the doctor gave him, even through cloth and to clean the wounds, sent even more pain through him, hot and fiery. He wanted to tell the man off, he could take care of himself from there, correct? No, he wasn't as young as he used to be, even if he tried, he would be shaken up and in too much pain to focus. He needed to write, but he couldn't do that much, so he stuck with trying to speak. Words escaped him, even as he found himself in a boat being led across the river to be tended to, he knew his wound was probably already infected. He was going to die. He isn't going to go down without a show. The words got more frequent, somewhat slurred from his state of mind, but full of meaning. He wasn't just going off on a tangent, no, he was telling them some sort of story._

_The pain continued to get worse, but it was instead cold in places where the tendrils of fiery pain decided to leap or become a small flame and cease his movements. He couldn't move much other than his eyes and mouth, but that was already uncomfortable enough as it was. Breathing hurt, it pressed against the wound every time his chest was filled and it rose. Places where the hot pain left, he was cold. His fingers were numb and he couldn't move them any longer. Sounds of protest escaped him as others attempted to take care of him, yet he continued to speak on, the people who were trying to write his last words have long given up. A day has passed by now, Angelica and Betsey were by his side, usurping him to drink wanted or eat food, but words continued to quiet, becoming a mess of slurred words. He couldn't even tell what he was saying anymore. He stared at his Betsey and his sister in law and smiled, his voice getting weaker and weaker. This time, when he closed his eyes to sleep, he didn't wake up._

 

/ / / /

  
Except he did, just two hundred or so years later and as a young child. The world was never going to be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yes, the chapters are going to be named after song titles)


	2. Stay alive

He has learned to manage through the toughest of times, so when his mother heard him speak eloquently at a young age, she was proud of him. Hurricanes were all too common, writing himself to sleep; be it in the dirt or sand; never failed to keep him on his toes. The similarities between this life and the last were outstanding, so far, his mother hadn’t died of an illness, but he had a feeling it was coming. When she kissed him good night, he would ask for a lullaby, just to hear her voice one last time, unsure if it would be there in the morning.

That wasn’t something he should fear, that his mother would suddenly die on him like his last. He knew she was getting weaker when she wouldn’t sing for him as well, her voice cracking slightly. When he asked if she was okay, she always responded, “ _Of course, mi hijo._ ”

He knew she was lying. Bruises would become more prevalent as her skin got paler, less money came in. Once again, he realized, she had to get money somehow. Once again, his mother was giving herself away just to keep him safe, healthy. She would deny it, but he wasn’t an idiot. His father never paid child support, he knew not who he was any longer, any sights of him had vanished with the last time he closed the door. With him, the money left as well.

He would look at the mark on his arm this time around and ask her what it would mean. He knew very well it was something his soulmate would say to him. He understood the words well, but he loved her voice. He wanted to keep it in his life forever. “ _You, hijo mio, are going to be loved. Muy querido._ ”

Hunger did nothing to kill her voice, if anything making it seem softer; more feminine, skinnier too. Money came in more when she was like that. He hated it. He knew that the less she ate, the more vulnerable to illnesses she was, the more likely to die. He didn’t want him to die. But those sick men who paid to get laid, a one night stand with someone other than their soulmates. Those sick men who made her do things, hit her just to get off.. Sometimes… No, he didn’t want to think about the way his mom would cry before calling him over and telling him important words. “ _Fight your battle, hijo mio, no te dejes caer._ ” Never let yourself down. Never sell yourself too low.

Soon enough, the time came where he walked to her in a sick haze, the thin and old blanket framed over her was doing nothing to keep her warm and her eyes no longer had that beautiful violet-like glow. The book he was holding, already worn and the spine broken, dropped to the floor, few pages sliding out from the grasp of terrible binding. He ran over to his mother and hugged her, snuggled with her until she seemed to fall asleep. He got out from under her and checked her breathing before letting out a whimper. Once again, his gorgeous mother was gone. Her red locks were forever out of his life. Again.

They didn’t come to take her away until the hurricane left basically everyone homeless. His fear of storms kept him basically screaming for help in the dead of night, crying for people to come and get him. Any hope had left him by the time they arrived, looking him over and noticing the dead look in his eyes. He was much younger this time, only ten.

 

This time, he had no cousin, his brother was long dead, and his father didn’t care. If he was dead as well… Hopefully he wasn’t.

Well, he wouldn’t lie, he actually wanted, in a terrifying way, to find out that his father was dead. Maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was actually abandoned for the second time to die. For his mother to die. Was he so unlovable that he was abandoned two life times in a row by his father?

 

He will prove them wrong.

He would see to it that the world will never be the same. He will prove that he can be lovable. He will find that soul mate of his and love them. Even if they end up being Lee or King George. Well, most likely not. Those were the lowest few he could think of that could ever be even _slightly_ compatible with him. It must be someone who doesn’t like him though, but he could think of plenty of people who would hate his past life. Angelica despised him, even after he searched through everything about his past life, to fill the desire to know what was said of him, Angelica still seemed to hate him.

He will prove how much of a better man he can become, a genius. He will make something better of this nation, perhaps help build rights for the people. He wanted to prove what others thought of him wrong. He _will_ find his soulmate. He _will_ prove them wrong.

 _Especially_ with the words on his wrist being so much more different and complex than the one in his past life. _“Well, shortstack,”_ He frowned at the word, but continued reading, _“you have quite the bite. You- have we met before?”_ Whoever his soulmate was, he was pretty sure there would be a rude comment on their arm. He trailed his finger over the words and contemplated telling his rich (according to the furniture and how nice the house looked) foster parents about his past life. He told them and they were so happy, the man telling young Alexander his own past life.

George Washington.

What did George do in his past life that he could have possible regretted, he asked himself, the man was practically perfect. They needed to get the young reincarnate signed up on the sheets before he told anyone else or did something he would regret. Young Alexander kept the ID in his pocket. He had answered every question correctly and held vocabulary a child as himself shouldn't know. He guessed now he couldn't tell Washington to stop calling him son. It was funny to him.

 

Few years passed and he was then in High School, the place where hormones raged and kids acted like adults. It was a pain. Washington asked him one morning if he knew of a hamilton and the teen smiled somewhat smugly at his foster father, a new fire burning behind his eyes but he only smiled. Washington connected the dots only then, “Son…”

“Can’t tell you not to call me son, now, can I, sir?”

Though, he hated being called ‘son’. It reminded him of the childhood he barely got. He had little time where he was happy, and even then, it was little time. Few years of his life that he remembered and most were a blur of being taken care of, being sick, almost dying all too many times in an area where illness was prevalent. Being with Washington was truly the only points he felt he had an actual father figure. Even then, he denied it his past life, even if it is hard now, he has this, now, young man to take care of him without feeling like a burden.

 

School was always a problem, no matter the life, it was filled of so much drama. Instead of teachers slapping your wrists, lashing you, hitting you when you did something wrong. They instead gave you the stink eye, perhaps yelling at you. Or, even worse, talking to you calmly about your misdeeds. He had gotten into another fight, this time, he hadn’t started it, this time, he was staying quiet and that was why they yelled at him, punched him, kicked him. He couldn’t say it was worse than the war, war was much harder to face.

_Gotta get home- gotta meet my son!_

He has no son here, he has no one here to keep his head straight except for Washington. That man, that man he almost longed to call father, but knew he couldn’t (his opinion on fathers was too broken) associate him with the people in his lives who left him. Washington stared at Hamilton, disappointed with the fact he had gotten into a fight. Did he mention Washington was the principal of this school?

Probably not.

Anyways, he stared blankly back at Washington, “You know i didn’t hit back, right?”

“You aggravated him to the south.”

“Watch the footage, he hit me in the mouth.” Hamilton wasn’t going to give up like that, biting the inside of his cheek, it still hurt and luckily, that Charlie was weak. He had a suspicion he was a reincarnate of Charles Lee, but of course, no way to truly confirm it. Unless… _Unless_ … What if he could trigger some sort of memory from him? The Charles of the past was a coward, hid behind being a General and shouting orders of retreat.

Washington sighed and leaned back in his seat, trying to think clearly about what sort of punishment he could give to the both of them. It has to be suitable for breaking the school rules. “Alright, then.” What was he getting himself into? “Charles, you are getting a suspension,” Like a suspension would do anything. “For a week.” Hamilton’s eyebrows shot up, practically flinging him out of the seat and onto the floor behind him.

Sadly, that wasn’t what happened, it would have brightened the mood. “Hamilton.”

“Yes sir?” He frowned at that.

“You are coming with me.” Aaaand his look of shock is gone. Replaced with a look that speaks dismay.

 

He got grounded. Which was hilarious because he hadn’t even said nor did anything. He got grounded for getting bullied. Of course, when he spoke these thoughts, George cut it down to a few days instead of a month or two. Those few days, he wasn’t allowed to write anything other than homework or read anything but school books. It was absolute hell. In the end, he spent the rest of the days inside, rereading school subject books, and feeling like a mess. Without being allowed to write, he felt like the world was going to crash down around him, reading helped it a bit, but he read quickly, knew basically everything in most of the books (what can he say, he spends all night studying), and had to reread everything just to feel somewhat sane. It gave him a huge headache, but it was better than doing nothing all day.

Once it was over, he practically found himself dying at George’s feat. Of course, that man rose a brow and asked if he enjoyed being grounded. “No. You _killed_ me. Look at what you’ve _done_.” He found it amusing.

 

Hamilton walked through the halls, not really sparing others a second glance. There is only four minutes between each class, they expect you to drink water, use the bathroom, talk with your friends, talk with your teachers, get across campus, get to your locker, and get to your class. Most likely not in that order or all of those at once, but in four minutes? Blasphemy! His eyes sharpened and he walked quicker turning a hall only to bump into a man- he glared at them, not really sparing a second thought before continuing on his way to class.

It wasn’t until he got settled down that he thought about it and paused, his eyes lighting in realization. That was somebody he knew in his past life- nono. Don’t go there, abandon the past. He can’t hurt more people than he already has. The teacher walked to the front of the class and spoke of a new student, his interest was instantly piqued. Who could possibly be joining the school halfway through?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad spanish anyone?  
> imagine when Laf comes in and i have to do french too  
> (i'll probably just use Google Translate tbh)


	3. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had never seen Alexander so despondent, he had taken over making sure he took care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're the closest friend I've got."

It was a timid boy named Aaron. Aaron Brown. He reminded Hamilton of Burr, perhaps because of the name, or perhaps because of the way he held himself. Shoulders full, chest slightly puffed, back straight, military stance. He could say the man was trained for the military, but he certainly hoped that wasn’t the case. The man made eye-contact and paled. Alex’s amused look grew, sure, he wasn’t evil, but he had his times where it was amusing to mess with people. The look in his eyes.. Either that man has had blood on his hands at such a young age, kept his mind stable enough to continue on, or was a reincarnate. He wouldn’t be surprised if either of those were the case. He didn’t hear Aaron’s last name, sadly, or he would have most likely been able to connect the dots.

He hummed to himself before getting back to work, pencil carrying over the paper carefully and rather quickly. It sped across, leaving smooth words behind of a man in a teens body. He felt eyes dig into him and shifted a bit uncomfortably, adjusting his small stack of papers. If he keeps going this way, he will be over the limit. Twenty page limit was a thing for him, teachers tend to get upset if there is too much to read, as long as it is a moderate amount for a nice enough topic, you get a solid A. He felt something tap his back and jumped, blinking before looking at Aaron over the rim of his glasses. Something something, “..bell..” OH SHIT!

Alexander stood up quickly, muttering a quick thank you whilst gathering his things, and rushed through the doors to his next class. Really, he should listen to others. Specifically if they look like someone that shot them.

Maybe that isn’t a good idea. After all, if they had shot him, then he would have been trusting his murderer. If it was Burr.. That man is probably going to get a fist in his face. Alex put his class items away, realizing that it was now lunch, but kept a folder filled with writing. Maybe creative writing would be a good idea? Either way, he speed walked outside to sit in the shade and found himself being approached. He paused his writing to look up at them, “You are making it harder to write.” The mans’ smile seemed to drop a little but it returned seemingly all the more brighter. Alex eyed the man, getting more and more irritated with each second that seemed to past. “Aren’t you going to speak or...I don't know.. Move?” Well isn’t he salty?

“I’m John!” Alex blinked, raising a brow.

“Okay that’s nice.” He paused, almost as if waiting for something. “Can you move now? I’d like to be able to get some light.” John frowned again before muttering something about his memory serving him wrong.

“You aren’t as nice as i thought.”

“Pleasure to be of your acquaintanceship, I’m young, salty, and short.” John snorted and Alex just sighed. “I don’t like being interrupted. Last name?”

“Lawrence.”

“Hamsley-Wachsmann."

“You are the principal's son?”

“Yeah?”

“No wonder you have the good classes.” John must have known he said something wrong when Alex’s violet-blue eyes narrowed and sharpened. He set his pencil within the bindings and quickly opened the folder, stuffing his writings within.

“Are you saying i don’t work for what i get?” He stood up, somehow looking taller than he is. “Are you saying that i have been allowed to get everything i have wanted? I have worked and worked to get ahead, be smart, get a good grade, make my fathers proud. You… You…!” He huffed and walked away.

This lunch was worse than he would have thought, for a moment, he almost hoped he would have a good day. He almost hoped it was Laurens. He had almost opened up to him.

No, what a fool he is to think his friend of life passed would come to find him once more, even so, he must admit, it was a terrible first impression. It might have helped if he ate something, maybe then he wouldn’t be as angry with the world. “Alexander, stay after class.” His attention snapped up and few people giggled as the bell rang, running out. The teacher approached him, “This is the last period, but I can tell something is off. Alexander, you are our top student. It isn’t like you to zone out and do nothing.”

“I’m fine- just- something happened today. I met someone. Now let it go. I need to get ready for debate.”

“Alexander, i do not think it is best to go to debate in your state of mind.”

“I’m going.” The teacher only sighed.

 

True to his word, Alexander found himself in debate, quiet and not speaking unless spoken to. He was out of it and others could tell. When the time came, he just walked out without any formalities.

When he arrived home with his foster father, George gave him a look. “Are you okay son?” He let out a bitter laugh.

“On the contrary, I thought I met Laurens, one of your aide-de-camp’s, once more. He said that because I am your son that I-..That I don’t work for everything I get. It was a joke- it must’ve been a joke...I…” He burst into tears, looking up at George, “I’ve worked for everything, I wrote my way out.. I- I wrote to defend myself, my story, yet here i am.. I- I have so much work to do.”

That was the most he had opened up to George in a long time. Too bad he had cut himself off.

Emotions always seem to be too much for his son.  


 

* * *

 

 

“ _Lawrence! Come here!_ ” John jumped at the authoritative voice, looking up to see the principal. Realization dawned on him. “ _Do you realize how out of it Alexander has been since whatever you have said? He has always worked hard for everything, late nights writing, learning different languages.. I may be his foster father, but i will not, will never, give him the favorite treatment. Now pardon me, i have to talk some sense into him and make sure he doesn’t do something stupid._ ” The principal walked away, frowning to himself and thinking of how to fix this mess. He knew his son worked well, worked hard, he didn’t let himself take things without work behind it.

What Lawrence had said hit him hard, especially since he thought he was seeing a friend from his past life, a close friend at that. Washington wouldn’t have blamed him if they were secret lovers. He himself secretly approved of same-sex relations at the time. The two would have been a wonderful couple. They calmed each other easily, called each other and swayed their opinions like the ocean to the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short chapter 
> 
> //Inspired by 'Stay Alive'


	4. My Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t need this.” He looked up to him, “I don’t need you.” He bit his tongue before speaking bitterly. “Now leave.”

“Lemme tell you what I wished I’d have known when I met Martha. I was young and dreamed of glory, fall in love, get rich, have children… Then you came along and I remembered it all, it took so long for me to be able to put it behind me, learn to live a life with you as my actual son. It was hard at first, son, when my wife, your mother, died. I hoped that she would live to be much older than she ended up being. I know you closed yourself off from anyone who dared to be a motherly figure after she died, son.” George sighed, looking away from the young Alexander for a small moment. Grief couldn’t hold him from the last of his family for so long, he found himself looking back to the young boys violet-blue eyes. Luckily, the young man had inherited it from his last reincarnation. Alexander Hamilton had been a new soul, it seemed, and this new reincarnation didn’t know how to handle it. Instead, he grew on it, making it so easier to take everyone around him down. But it became evident that he was indeed the man he knew from so long ago.

He was a smart kid, George knew it the first time he saw those eyes, they had a certain glow to them, filled with life, filled with knowledge. He knew what it was like to lose those the loves, he knew what it was like to die himself. He had answers to questions some would literally kill to know, he wrote himself out of situations that would have killed someone else. He knew the dangers of war, he saw the growth of a nation and what it has become. He knew what it was like to be in the room where it happened, to grow upon his knowledge, teach himself to write. 

To lose those he had met only briefly, he knew what it was like to have a nation on his shoulders, he knew the pride that comes with knowing it succeeded. He had fought and wrote for a nation, built america’s banks, died to protect another man’s honor. Learned it was for nothing, that Burr had gone insane afterwards, insane with grief. “Let me tell you a story, one of no great renowned, it was in this life, son, when I met Martha a second time. She knew me right away, gave me a kiss and said she missed me. I dismissed her. Now I wish I hadn’t, I wish I had taken her by her hand and kissed her right there. Alexander… The past cannot be corrected nor changed, it will always stay the change, legends may change by word, but they maintain their meaning.”

The younger Alexander smiled to George, letting the older man’s knowledge sink in. They had fought battles of different kinds, not getting enough time with their soulmate or lover was enough for George to regret this life, Alexander not meeting his own in his past life was enough for him too. 

“Betsey wasn’t my soulmate, George. Maria was hers. We both knew it, George.”

  
  


Time of course passed and George watched as Alexander grew to be smarter than before, learned to control his temper, watched and he corrected things of which could be seen as imperfections. The way he talked, the way he walked, the way he chose his next words changed so drastically. Going from rascal of a child and adult to a fine, well-mannered teen. Anyone who was soulmates with that young fellow was sure to have a good life.

He learned that in his past life, Alexander was Laurens’ soulmate, but Laurens wasn’t his. The writing on his wrist said that whoever it was.. Alexander refused to say who it was in his past life. But, George had learned from others, that sometimes soulmates could have relationships that didn’t end well, sometimes soulmates refused to believe they were each others, sometimes soulmates never met, sometimes… They just couldn’t be together, be it by death, family, or sex. 

But, whoever was lucky enough to be Alexander’s soulmate was to be well taken care of, but it depends on who it was. To be frank, it almost seemed like Alexander had forgotten who his soulmate was, either that or he hadn’t learned. To be frank, if he had blocked out the memory of who it was, then it was sure to be the fact that he wanted to pretend life was fine while being with Elizabeth.

 

He watched as Alexander suddenly became distant, he didn’t speak to him for few days and whenever George would ask, he would shy away or bring up another topic before not talking again. That wasn’t like him at all, no.. Alexander could talk for hours if something was upsetting him, it was also like him to bury himself in work instead, but he isn’t doing either of those. He is barely working, thoughts in the gutter. Of course, he had the next few weeks of work finished for basically every class, not exactly a shocker, so his grades were decently kept up.

George knew what Alexander had blubbered out to him was not the full truth, there was something more to it, he wanted to understand, to help his son. But he can’t if he doesn’t speak to him. It was so unlike Hamilton, the hamilton now and the hamilton then alike, both seemed to have a desire to talk. Both had a fire in their heart. That fire seemed to be dimming and, to be frank, it terrified George. He had never seen his adopted son so.. Empty? 

The time came when he got tired of it and approached Alexander, pulling him aside. “Son. Alexander, let me tell you something. There are some things you have to wait for, there are some things you have to try to reach to be able to get them… I want you to speak to me, Alexander. I want to know what is wrong- I want to know what’s on your mind, son.” With that, Alexander seemed to just explode, telling George problems he hadn’t known of, how Lawrence had affected him too much and all he could do was think of that. All he could do was think of what Lawrence had said. It was hilarious, they still used each other's last names, Hamilton having this amazing ability to call him ‘sir’ on accident. 

“Son. You have worked hard all of your lives, some people just aren’t going to see it, perhaps give them another chance? Let them make it up for what they have said.”

“I’ll give them a chance. One. If they mess it up, I won’t be so easy to forgive.”

  
  


“Monsieur Hamsley.” He turned to see a man, lean with curly hair. He blinked, pausing in his walk.

“Who are you?”

“A, how you say, friend of monsieur Lawrence?” Hamilton immediately turned sour.

“Well if he is going to send his hounds after him, then I guess I have no choice but try to forgive him then? I refuse, good day.”

“Ah! Mon ami!” Hamilton turned back to the man, asking what he wants. “I forgot to introduce myself- Do you believe in reincarnation?” He sputtered out another goodbye before walking even quicker than he had before.

He didn’t need this. Not now. “I need to get to class.”

He didn’t really forgive Lawrence, no.. If that man wanted his forgiveness- to be on his truly good side, he would have to work for it.

“I have a friend, Petit Lion,” Hamilton turned at the nickname, eyeing the other warily, “would you like to meet?” Well, Alexander had no clue, he wanted to walk away once more, but he can’t ignore that man forever, it seems. “Lawrence has a new soulmate, mon ami.”

“Do you truly remember or are you trying to get me to fall into a trap?”

“Find out yourself.”

 

 

That was Lafayette, wasn’t it? Spoke like him, sounded like him, acted like him. He asked about reincarnation and it- it set him off. He messed with his ID, flipping it through his fingers and watching as his past life and it’s details were moved along with the plastic card. He was in debate, but he really didn’t care if his ID was seen, his worries were elsewhere. It was obvious if you looked at him, he was still out of it, but more determined than before to find out if his friends had been reincarnated. His attention snapped up to see Lawrence in the doorway, glaring daggers at him. Hamilton rose a brow, staring at him with unspoken challenge.

“May I speak with Hamsley?” Lawrence walked in, glaring at Hamilton. Hamilton snapped back.

“No, you may not, now leave. You got your answer.” John didn’t like that and frowned at the other. Lawrence sighed, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a letter, handing it over. Alexander quickly opened it and his fury seemed to vanish out of thin air. He sighed sadly when money slipped out from in it and folded it back up, “I don’t need this.” He looked up to him, “I don’t need you.” He bit his tongue before speaking bitterly. “Now leave.” He gave the envelope full of money back to the other, not exactly appreciating the apology. “I am not going to be paid into accepting a fake apology.” He stood up, “Especially if you managed to insult all my efforts to get good grades and higher classes, reach decent classes, and live this long.”

“Over-dramatic much?”

“Uh.” He smiled sweetly, “No, hun, do you know what being on an island on the Caribbean is like? Imagine a terrible storm fifty times fold that is filled with people who wouldn’t give a damn about if a child dies as long as  _ they  _ are alive. Imagine streets flooded with water, halfhearted shacks and houses fall apart or float- dead people all around. It sure seems nice there when you get good weather, doesn’t it?” Debate was quiet for once as he continued to speak, anger flaring with each word he spoke before getting dangerously calm, “Nobody cares about an orphan living on the streets unless you make a name for yourself and guess what I did - two times in a row, mind you - managing to get a family in here who has treated me better than you have in the little time I have known you. So I was not kidding when I said I fought to live, and you also managed to insult that very same family, now get the fuck away from me.”

He did. The debate teacher wasn’t exactly pleased with his outburst, but didn’t say much on the matter, instead offering Hamilton to leave the room. He denied it and stayed there, quiet before glaring at the teacher, “Give me your worst.” They sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was in my doc for about a month and I was going to write more onto it (insert more Laf, get Alex a friend or two, dO STUFF ACCORDING TO THE PL A N) but all my motivation to write is basically dead, so take this super late and unfinished chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want this to continue, tell me in the comments please!  
> (Comments & Kudos appreciated)


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